Australian Emails 26 Mar 1999 1st Aussie Mass Email Everyone: It's in the 80s; I should be at the beach. Jenn (Monson) and I went 2 days ago, the day I arrived, but it was partly cloudy and I refused to get in the water. Such a strange combination of places Sydney is. Tropical, (think LA after Labor Day), English, (boys and girls in public school uniforms, though often they're Asian), that driving on the left which is gonna get me hit by a car one day. Very Pacific Rim, most of the fast food joints are Thai or Indonesian. Cell phones everywhere and used totally unselfconsciously; a skate boarder just rolled by the cafe where I'm typing this chatting on his. White people being overtly sexy in that sun-worshipping culture kinda way. Lush greenery. Fun, hard drinking. Money. I have my own flat in Darlinghurst, the Chelsea-meets-West Village-meets-Amsterdam-gay-ghetto. Cute cafes on every corner (a "flat white" is a cappuccino without the foam). Politely aggressive teenage hustlers. "Good evening, are you looking for someone?" Almost no black people (except cab drivers). Men of all types--construction workers, mailmen, bus drivers, gay boys--wear what in the 70s were called hot pants and in the 60s short-shorts. A fair amount of male leg shaving or waxing, for those who notice. Handsome, butch women. Sexy corporate types. Pre-cancerous tans. First night of performances went quite well. Full house. Appreciative. I did a combination of "In the Dark," a solo version of "Rougher," and "Without Hope," ( they found the (heavy) Aussie version of a cinder block for me). A show tonight and tomorrow then 2 weeks of teaching. A combination of a homeopathic "No Jet-Lag" and Melatonin has helped me thru the time change. Yay drugs! Hope I get out of the city, pleasant as it is. G'day, Ishmael 1 April 1999 Sydney, Chunky Style Folks, Fall just hit Sydney, on the exact day that daylight savings ended. Today Jenn Monson and I got a quite favorable review of last weekend's show in which both of us were refereed to as "chunky!" Actually I was "Chunky" and Jenn was "also chunky" in her paragraph. "Fat" woulda been so much more to the point, don't ya think. Susan Foster (I forget her book, dance theorist/historian) was here from UC Davis/Riverside delivering 2 papers. She "performs/dances" her (very academic) papers, which is borderline annoying. Doing feeble handstands while spouting Lacanian theory and Derrida just seems somehow wrong. She came to our show twice and loved it but we got into an argument when I told her I liked Danny Hoch's show. She was all about "white male privilege; he should *not* be *allowed* to appropriate those (hip-hop) images; blah blah blah." Haven't explored queer night life yet, though there seems to be a *lot*. All the women seem "dubious" but maybe that's because they tend to be big boned gals and they have that butch "g'day mate" accent. And as I wrote before, the construction workers in the hot pants have me totally confused. I teach from 10 to 4 so I'm beat when I get home anyway. I like my students. I had them form a line in age order, eyes close/no talking. There were 4 born in the 1950s. Six born in the 70s. *None* born in the 60s. Where have all the 30somethings gone? Some people have offered to get me out of town this weekend, even though there is another series of performances and other festival activities I "should" go to, I think I might have to be rude and split. All for now, Chunky Chuck 3 April 1999 Dry Good Friday Mates, Yesterday was Good Friday and all liquor stores were closed, it was hard to find an open bar and the trains were empty 'cause people weren't going to work. It's a real state holiday. I think this is because it's the last big holiday of summer (Easter weekend) Sort of like an extended Labor Day weekend, and folks are driving out of town. Favorite signs in the subways-- (the new cars have an upstairs and a downstairs; guess they're not afraid of lawsuits here)-- The anti-litter slogan is "Do the Right Thing," wonder if Spike Lee knows or gets royalties. Then there are big billboards for the 3 month amnesty for turning in illegal hand weapons (Non-guns) with pictures of nun-chuks (sp); studded gloves; cat o' nine tails (studded tips); switchblades; those flying star blades from kung fu movies; handcuffs; etc. It makes you feel so secure waiting for a train at night to know that all those bad Aussie hooligans have turned in their weapons. And will all the gay leather boys get arrested every Saturday night by the (fashion) police. "But officer, it's not a weapon, it's just a smart accessory!" My students love me (of course). Took me out for a beer. Talked a bit about the Australian brand of racism. Pointed out that in this very progressive festival there are no Aborigine (or any other colored folks other than mon self) involved in the performances, the teaching, or as students or technicians or office workers. One woman said she didn't know *any* Aborigine People. One said she had contact only thru dancing. One man has cousins thru marriage. Racism here seems to analogous to the U.S. treatment toward Native Americans. With massive amounts of denial. Someone pointed out that at the museum there is a section of "Australian Art" which is all water-colors and oils of landscapes and portraits. Then there's the special section of "Aboriginal Art." As though that wasn't "Australian." There are blacks here, American ex-pats and African. There is a notorious high rise project near the Performance Space that has the rep of being "bad" because it's largely colored, when in fact it's not worse than other poor depressed parts of town. Dunno. Maybe 'cause this is the other side of the world; but Kosovo seems to be having almost no resonance here. It's on the front pages of the papers but doesn't seem to be at the forefront of people's minds. And back in the US? (Europe, Doran and Bas?) Gotta run. Jenn and I are taking a ferry across the bay on our day off. Hop like a bunny, Ish 6 April 1999 Bugger Everyone: Another dispatch from the land of Men in (with?) Hats. This weekend Jenn and I did get away via ferry to Manly, a suburban beach town. Hiked. Saw gigantic spiders and black lizards and prehistoric looking plants. Swam in the Ocean. Ate octopus and tuna at a cafe watching the sun set into the sea. Took the ferry back reading about the wars. This week's performances were very different from ours. Lisa Nelson was the only American on the bill and she was the only person who ever acknowledged that there was an audience. People said it was a very "Melbourne" kind of show. • Slang: As usual, toward the end of the workshop, students have started teaching me the local slang. My fave, an expression of mild pleasant surprise (e.g.: An Aussie Granny's been looking for her/his glasses; then discovers that they've been on top of their head all the time), they'd say "Well, bugger-me-dead, there they are!" I think we in the U.S.A. should adopt this expression with the correct translation. So the next time you find yourself mildly, pleasantly surprised you should exclaim--"Why, fuck me in the ass 'til I die!" Charming, no? • Barefootin': Normal looking people walking thru town, (the Village, Chelsea parts of town) without shoes. I see them out my NYC peripheral vision and think--"homeless crazy." Then on closer inspection I see that it's just some Australian out to get the morning paper or cigarettes with casual disregard for broken glass. • Ozone depletion. Several of my students have had skin biopsies. • Fruit bats. Mikey I. You didn't tell me about the fruit bats. Nightly, at sunset, from the roof of my flat, I can see flocks of them migrate from one park to another. Very nice as long as they're far far away. But occasionally one goes off on its own and swooshes from the tree downstairs and it's more than a little disconcerting. Think small (not so small actually) black cat with a 4 foot wing span. I can hear the thwuh, thwuh, thwuh of its wings above me and all I can think of is Count Chocula. Sleep with the balcony door shut now. • I'm still fascinated by that hand weapon amnesty. While waiting for a train I copied down the names of all the other weapons pictured on the billboard: Push Dagger, Butterfly Knife, Taser, Flail (a studded ball attached with a chain to a stick), Shark Dart, Mace--{Non-ceremonial}, Body Armour Vest (bullet proof vest), Knuckle Dusters (brass knuckles), Blow Gun, Hurling Sling, Cross Bow, Sword in a Cane. The fact that there is an amnesty for turning these things in implies that a lot of people must have had and used them. Scary. • Favorite bus shelter ad: "Finally a Condom you CAN Put on Without Putting on the Lights." For some Durex™ product with a metal ring on the end. Bugger me Dead, Non-ceremonially yours, Ishmael 11 April 1999 Homeward bound Mates; Last mass email form this weird place. I look forward to getting back to a one-2-one with you all soon. Re my last heading; only Mikey I caught my altzheimerish error of mistaking "Men at Work" with "Men without Hats." Mikey also informs me that the folks who wander about town unshod "like the city was their backyard" are referred to as 'Feral People.' This explains what was meant when one club in Newtown was described as being full of "Feral Dykes." On the last night of classes, I demanded that my students take me to see some of the bad drag that Sydney is famous for. They took me to 2 clubs in Newtown (one semi-famous as the Club where "Priscilla..." was filmed). The drag at both places was just not quite bad enough. Though at both places bringing audience members up to the stage and insulting them viciously, then giving them unlimited free drinks seemed to be a part of the standard routine. One place also featured 2 chorus boys (waxed and shiny and giving big teeth, although only one knew the words well enough to lip-synch along to their sub-B'way jazzercise routine). They framed a wicked 200 LB Angie Dickensonesque drag. To answer Mina's question re the sizable Greek community here (the largest outside of Athens), on our way between the 2 gay clubs, Peter and I got trapped among a procession of candle carrying families leaving midnight (Greek) Easter mass. It was quite surprising and beautiful. Queer folks staggering from club to club co-mingled with hundreds of Moms, Dads, Kids, Grannies carrying burning tapers in the night. Peter, a performer from Melbourne, is the only other gay man involved directly with this festival (oh, and Mark the tech guy). Points to the granola crunchiness of this particular event. A lot of dancey-dance women. Some solo performance art-types. Only 3 male students, all straight, all over 40, 2 with children. There was a "lesbian presence" and all the rest were straight dancer girls. I know I'm obsessing and you've heard more about the subject than you could ever want to but my preoccupation with the fruit bats grows each day. The locals don't understand my absorption either. I'll say, "hey, bugger-me-dead, look at that sucker," and they'll just say "yeah that's one of the flying 'foakses,'" as if a creature that resembles a NYC sized rat (I know I originally said small cat but I've had a closer look) with 4 feet of wings zooming overhead is of no note. It's just me I guess. My 2nd fave bus ad pictures a cartoon punk Betty Boop-type with spiky blond hair pulling at her stockings under the hem of her red mini-dress. The caption reads "IS THERE A LITTLE CREEP IN YOUR PANTYHOSE?" (Try Kicks with Lycra.) Gotta pack and clean this apartment. Leave on my 20+ hour flight tomorrow. Will see if the Melatonin works in both directions. Still don't actually understand how I leave at 1 Monday afternoon and arrive in SF at 9:30 Monday morning. It's so Star Trek to me. See most of you real soon, The little creep, Ishmael P.S.: to NYers. WEDNESDAY, the 14th of APRIL, 5:30 P.M., there will be a reception/reading/performance/what have you for that book I'm in at The New Museum of Contemporary Art, 583 Broadway.